Chapter 715: Zariel

Within August City, the people of Thrace wailed in despair, fleeing in all directions. They had never seen such a sight before.

Meanwhile, the soldiers of the Ember Empire stood in place, coldly observing from the sidelines, making no move. The devils, in turn, wisely refrained from provoking the Imperial forces.

Tyrena flapped her wings and soared into the sky, raising the Judgment Sword high and unleashing a burst of divine golden light as she shouted, "Devils, crawl back to hell! This is not your place!"

"Swish—"

As her sword descended, over a dozen beams of holy light fell and engulfed several devils, reducing them to ashes amid their screams.

At this moment, Tyrena’s pale-gold pupils rotated with the image of the sun disc, and within them flickered endless sorrow, regret, and self-blame.

"Your Majesty Aragon..."

In a daze, Tyrena seemed to see a vague, radiant silhouette of the towering and majestic Aragon I.

It was as if she had returned to ten years ago, when she knelt before the imperial throne in the holy city. The old emperor had rested the Holy Sword on her shoulder and asked her to protect the second prince with her life.

Back then, she had gladly agreed and vowed to guard Prince Wilhelm at all costs.

But now, Tyrena had failed. She had watched the king fall into a hellish monster with her own eyes, watched him slain by the red dragon, powerless to stop it.

She knew she should never have indulged Wilhelm so much, never should have let him walk down the path of corruption, signing a soul-selling contract with devils and ending up like this.

Now, she had to atone.

"For Thrace, for Holy Fadlan, destroy these hellspawned sinners!" she cried, swinging the Judgment Sword again. A light blade dozens of meters long shot forth, cleaving through hundreds of devils at the waist.

"Damn angel!"

"Kill that nuisance! She’s a divine-blooded duke!"

Hundreds of hell puppets beat their black wings, surrounding Tyrena like a dark cloud.

These so-called "Holy Guard" now followed hell’s orders, helping devils slaughter the city’s defenders.

"Kill her!"

The Holy Guard’s commander raised his sword and pointed it at the divine-blooded angel.

In an instant, the hell puppets swarmed, attacking from all directions, each strike aimed at a vital point.

"You... You destroyed Prince Wilhelm... lured him into hell!"

Tyrena’s eyes burst forth with brilliant divine light. She unleashed all her solar power, almost burning herself up.

"Boom!"

Columns of light pierced the dark clouds, and then a massive fireball appeared in the sky, burning everything within hundreds of meters.

Dayev looked up at Duke Tyrena perishing with hundreds of Holy Guards, sighed softly, then turned to face the enemy.

"Die!"

Dayev raised his sword, leapt high, and sliced a pitchfork-wielding imp in two. It screamed and disintegrated into ash midair.

But then several massive, hulking Conamons appeared, swinging their bloodstained spiked chains as they surrounded the warrior, laughing hoarsely.

"Hahaha, stop struggling, mortal. Your king has already sacrificed this city to hell!"

"This will be our soul pasture! All of you—will become Lord Zariel’s private property!"

"Not just August, the entire Thrace shall fall into hell!" The Conamon spread its wings, basking in the fear and dread of the people.

"No! This is August! The land of first light—how dare you run wild here!"

Dayev shook his head, face filled with sorrow. In his eyes was a glimmer of determination, as if ready to die.

He couldn’t bear to watch his hometown—the once radiant and sacred "City of Sunrise"—become hell’s pasture, nor could he accept his family and friends becoming devil feed.

But seeing the cracked skies and rampaging devils, Dayev began to feel despair.

After the war with the Empire, only remnants of the Thrace army remained, and Wilhelm’s "Holy Guard" now obeyed hell.

Even someone as powerful as the divine-blooded Duke Tyrena had perished amid the swarm of devils.

A regular warrior like him seemed minuscule before hell’s legions. What could he possibly do to save the city and its people?

Perhaps only a miracle could save August now.

Wait—a miracle?

Dayev turned and looked toward the distant red dragon bathed in light, thinking of that blazing sun.

Wasn’t that already a miracle? he wondered. A bold thought emerged in his mind.

Maybe...

Maybe the Ember Emperor was the one who could save August—maybe even the entire Thrace Kingdom.

The Thrace soldiers were locked in fierce combat with the devil army when they suddenly froze—their vertical pupils reflected a celestial anomaly: the leaden clouds overhead had been scorched with golden cracks, as if a thousand suns were struggling behind them.

"Boom—"

With a deafening roar, a rift to hell tore open across the material plane. The sky twisted into a sulfur-colored vortex as scorched earth spread from the fissure, and the air filled with the scorching stench of burning iron and blood.

An overwhelming pressure descended. Within a hundred-mile radius, nearly every living being trembled as soul-deep terror gripped them.

That fear came from hell—a primal dread of the wicked order that defies the gods.

"Amanata above..."

"Wh-what is that horrifying presence?"

"Gods..."

"It’s doomsday! The end! The punishment of the gods for our defiance!"

Before the eyes of millions, Zariel rose from the vortex—over fifteen feet tall, with burning wings that blotted out half the battlefield. Every feather bore holy script scorched black by hellfire, trailing embers like meteors.

Her armor was forged of molten black iron, with magma flowing through the cracks.

Her face still held an angel’s majesty, but her eyes had become boiling, blood-red fireballs. The gaze through the crevice of her helmet could make even the maddest barbarian curl up and tremble.

"Boom—"

Her lava greatsword struck the ground, turning stone into a seething lake.

Hundreds of hell drakes roared behind her, spewing black smoke. Fallen Paladins, bound in chains, knelt at her feet, chanting blasphemous hymns.

Three massive dragons hauled a gigantic war chariot forged from infernal meteoric iron, carrying Zariel into the skies above the wasteland.

These dragons had terrifying, devilish visages, with sinister bone spikes jutting from their heads and shoulders. Their eyes burned a dreadful yellow.

Their scales shimmered with the colors of flowing lava, reeking of sulfur—they were Inferno Ancients, symbols of tyranny, rulers of the brutal law of the strong.

"People of Thrace, abandon your futile resistance—"

The divine-blooded of Thrace clashed with the devils, their fury ignited as they roared defiantly: "No! We are Fadlanites, children of the sun! We will never submit to hell!"

Zariel’s voice boomed like a funeral bell: "Mortal struggle? It is but kindling—cast into my furnace, your deaths shall fuel hell’s victory!"

Before her words faded, the crack in the sky erupted, and six burning chains descended like black dragons, shredding dozens of divine-blooded angels.

Wings burned mid-air, severed limbs fell from the skies, and golden blood splattered across the earth.

Watching the bloody, brutal scene, Zariel’s lips curled into a mad, twisted grin.

As the ruler of the Blood War, her very existence was the embodiment of war—a product of the clash between order and chaos. Every flame, every scream on the battlefield crowned her.

"At last you’ve come, Zariel. I’ve been waiting." High above, Cassius gazed down at the Hell Archduchess and gave a slight nod, fire swirling in his eyes.

Zariel looked up at the red dragon, her eyes narrowing, a dangerous glint in their depths. "Ember Emperor, if you wish to live—take your army and leave. Leave August. Leave the Thrace Kingdom.

This land bears the mark of Avernus. It is now territory of the Nine Hells, a soul pasture of the mighty devils."

Hearing this, surprise flashed in Cassius’ eyes. Curious, he asked, "Didn’t you make a pact with Wilhelm—to grant him Thrace in exchange for killing me?"

"Wilhelm? Heh." Zariel’s mouth curled again, a mocking smile on her face. "That hopeless fool."

She lifted her head, meeting the red dragon’s gaze. Her voice was cold and full of ridicule. "Yes, Cassius, I will kill you—but in three thousand years, when you’re old and withered. I will destroy your empire—but only in five thousand years, when it teeters on collapse. Then I will strike, and finish the job."

Finally, she raised her hand and summoned a parchment contract, pointing at the fine print: "After all... the contract doesn’t specify a deadline."

"Interesting," Cassius chuckled, clicking his tongue. He found it laughable—even pitied the King of Thrace a little.

No surprise, it was a devil’s contract—so black-hearted it was absurd. Exploiting every loophole possible.

Wilhelm gave up everything, and all he got was a worthless promise—not even fit to wipe one’s ass.

"Snap."

Zariel snapped her fingers, and the contract turned to ash, vanishing into thin air. "So, Cassius, how about it? Avernus and the Empire can coexist in peace."

"Lady Zariel, ’peace’ sounds awfully ironic coming from your mouth," Cassius sneered.

Zariel’s expression darkened. She reached down, pulled her greatsword from the earth, and pointed it at the red dragon. "So you want war?

Then I shall move the timetable forward by a few thousand years, Cassius."

She spoke each word like it came from the depths of hell, laden with horrifying power.

"I’ve been waiting for this," Cassius nodded and spread his wings. A blazing gale erupted as he soared into the sky.

The red dragon loomed above, lifted his head, and roared with overwhelming might: "In the name of the Ember Emperor—August, and all of Thrace, shall belong to the Ember Empire!

We shall inherit the divine law of Holy Fadlan! The people here shall live forever beneath the sun—not beneath Avernus’ blood-red skies!"

As Cassius roared, endless solar power surged skyward, coalescing into a dazzling sun that bathed the heavens in light.

The sun power and celestial essence within the red dragon now surged at full strength, resonating with the very authority of the Fire Elemental Plane.

[Legendary · Holy Day]

Bathed in that radiance, devils burst into flames, black smoke rising from their bodies as they shrieked and writhed—no longer rampaging so arrogantly.

"Long live Emperor Cassius! Loy—al—ty—!"

"Long live the Empire!"

"Praise the great red dragon! Praise the sun!"

This time, not only the Imperial soldiers outside the walls, but even the Thrace citizens tormented by devils cheered fervently, eyes blazing—treating Cassius the invader as a true savior.

In a corner of the city, Dayev ambushed and decapitated a horned devil, then looked up toward the red dragon holding the blazing sun in its jaws.

"Ember Emperor..." He hesitated, then pinned the Imperial emblem to his chest, raised his sword, and shouted through gritted teeth, "Long live Emperor Cassius!"

The Thrace soldiers behind him echoed in unison, their spirits ablaze.

"Boom! Boom boom!"

The Empire’s steam tanks, artillery, and airships bombarded the devils pouring from the dimensional rift. Shells rained from the sky, blasting devils to ash.

The Crimson Scaled Conqueror clashed with winged devils in the air, while on the ground, Imperial infantry unleashed a storm of gunfire, slaughtering the hellspawned invaders.

And so, under the threat of a common enemy, former invaders and the invaded now fought side by side, shouting the name of the same emperor.

Zariel glared at the distant red dragon. Her blood-red eyes boiled with rage.

"Red dragon, you’re courting death! I’ll sever your head and destroy your empire—so you can witness the true might of Avernus!"

With her wrath, columns of blazing hellfire shot up from the ground.

The cracks in the sky widened, turning even more grotesque and terrifying. In the void, screams of tormented souls echoed—as if something was being born from within.